


wrap me in your warmth

by xinteng



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst Lite, Canon Compliant, Canon Era, Comfort Food, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Found Family Dynamics, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Introspection, Light Angst, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Sickfic, Whump, if you know you know, lotus tales round 1, tales of the lotus fest, tao is a good boy, they're all good boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:48:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26533138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xinteng/pseuds/xinteng
Summary: Yixing says he's fine, but everyone sees past his lie except for Tao.
Relationships: Huang Zi Tao | Z.Tao/Zhang Yi Xing | Lay
Comments: 12
Kudos: 33
Collections: Round 1 of Tales of the Lotus Fest





	wrap me in your warmth

**Author's Note:**

> my self prompt for the talesofthelotus fest! thank you to the mods for hosting!
> 
> **written for round 1 of tales of the lotus fest**

It isn’t until Lu-ge tells him to shut up (with a rude gesture that was rather unwarranted, Tao thinks, huffing) and _duizhang_ looks cautiously towards the back of the van where Yixing-ge is cuddled up next to Minseok-hyung, head lolling on his shoulder and quite obviously asleep, does Tao understand.

He blinks, and notes the flush to Yixing-ge’s cheeks, the raspy quality of his breath, how the corners of his eyes crinkle as if he’s in pain even while he’s asleep.

Ashamed, Tao sinks back down into his seat, and Jongdae, next to him, gives him a reassuring squeeze of his hand. Tao turns to stare out the window, taking in the darkness and watching as the flickers of light from the street lamps outside pass him by.

The rest of the ride back to the dorms is quiet.

They’d had a music show recording earlier in the day—they’d gotten up early so that the sun hadn’t risen yet by the time they left the dorms, all looking haggard and a little worse for wear. He had laughed at Lu Han’s bed hair, and poked fun of Yixing’s under eye circles. Lu Han had curled his arm a little tighter around Yixing, and snapped back, “Not any worse than yours.” _Duizhang_ and the managers had ushered them into the car quickly after that. It was hours later by the time the stylist _jie jies_ were done making them presentable to the public and they had warmed up.

It had taken six or seven run-throughs of _Overdose_ before the director was satisfied, and by then everyone was sweaty and looked like they were about to fall over on their feet. Jongdae and Lu-ge were gulping bottles of water off to the side, while _duizhang_ was talking to the managers and Minseok-hyung was sitting on the ground with Xing-ge, who looked exhausted, frowning down at the stage floor.

Yifan gathers them together, resting a brief hand on Yixing’s shoulder as he waves away the hand offered to him by Minseok to help him up. “We have a photoshoot in a few hours. The managers told us to go back to the dorms and take a shower before we get ready.”

Lu Han groans a little under his breath but says nothing when Yifan frowns at him.

Tao grins. It’s always fun to see Lu-ge get reprimanded by _duizhang_.

When they get back to the dorms, Minseok suggests that they use their break time to rewatch some of their old performances and pick out some more things to work on, before they have to rush to their next schedule. Though they’re all tired, they agree, partially because they know they _should_ , and partially because Minseok-hyung is the eldest. Tao immediately plops down on the middle of the couch, Yixing-ge slumped next to him on the right, _duizhang_ on his left. Minseok and Jongdae have each claimed one of the armchairs bracketing the couch. Lu Han looks affronted at the lack of open seating for a moment before he decides it’s not worth fighting over today and settles himself at Yixing’s feet. Minseok presses play on the television, and they all hunch around to watch as tiny figures of themselves perform.

They pause each time there’s even the smallest mistake—Jongdae a little overbalanced here, _duizhang_ a little too slow to fall back into formation there. When Yixing makes a rare mistake, Tao yelps in glee and turns to poke at him and tease him a little. “Xing-ge messed up,” he laughs, and makes a face at him. “ _Laoshi_ won’t be too happy about that when he hears.”

Yixing rolls his eyes at him but gives him a faint smile anyways. Lu Han butts in. “You got scolded the worst by _laoshi_ last time, so I wouldn’t say too much, Huang Zitao.”

The smile slips off his face. He looks to _duizhang_ for reassurance, but he finds that Yifan’s watching Yixing carefully instead.

Tao huffs.

He jams his finger (perhaps too harshly, he’ll admit later) onto the remote to continue the video before crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back into the couch, sulky.

Hours later, Tao watches as Yixing poses for the cameras, that familiar little half smile tugging at the corners of his lips and wearing the slightly unfocused look that makes the fans call him _meng_ (he knows this from his daily web searching of fansites—he likes to collect nice pictures of himself, okay?) and coo over him. His hair hangs slightly over his eyes, caramel colored and wavy, and Tao watches as Yixing ruffles it slightly, adjusts his posture and then smiles again for new poses. There is none of the earlier fatigue he knows they all feel in Yixing’s expression, only sweet smiles and playful glances at the camera, and he is so convincing that Tao would almost believe it, if it weren’t for his own dark eyebags—cleverly concealed by the makeup artists—and the way his own body is heavy with exhaustion.

Yifan, Minseok, and Lu Han are all done already—the photographer had decided to go by age order, just so it was easier to keep track, and they stand off to the side, watching as well. Jongdae is being fussed over by the stylist _jie jies_ , and Tao loses sight of Yixing when the _jie jies_ turn their attention to him, Jongdae’s appearance finally tweaked to their satisfaction.

By the time his skin has been powdered enough that he suspects he’ll have to spend hours in the bathroom taking _off_ the makeup later, and his clothes tugged so that they cling to him tightly in the shoulders and waist, collar perfectly folded down, Yixing is done and sitting next to Yifan, both of them engrossed in their phones. A heavy down jacket is draped over Yixing, a steaming cup of hot water next to him, and Tao frowns—Yixing is hardly ever cold, often lending his own clothing to Minseok and Lu Han, who freeze easily. The photographer calls his name though, drawing his attention away, and in the midst of his apologies for not paying attention, Tao forgets about Yixing.

The rest of the ride back to the dorms is quiet.

None of them had spoken a word as they had gotten out of the van—Minseok had gently shaken Yixing awake, draping his arm around him for support before Yixing had finally managed to clamber awkwardly out of the car. Dinner had been similarly silent—the managers had brought them some food—chicken breast, sweet potatoes, fruit, and protein shakes—and Tao had watched as Yixing picked at his meal, chewing slowly around a sweet potato and shoving his untouched protein shake as well as his portion of a chicken breast at Jongdae, who was somehow a bottomless pit when it came to food. The pit of worry that had begun in the van grew deeper in his stomach.

No one had much to say—they were all exhausted, and as soon as they were done, Minseok had run off to the showers first, since he had called dibs on them in the car. Tao watched as Yixing tried to hold in a cough, blinking as though the ache had brought tears to his eyes. Muttering something about sleep, Yixing pushes himself off the table with both palms and trudges to his and Lu Han’s room, the latter following close behind. When Jongdae-hyung leaves too, but not without a comforting ruffle of Tao’s hair, Tao is left alone to stare at the empty dishes on the table, and the peels that remain of Yixing-ge’s sweet potato.

“Do you think he’ll be alright?” he hears Minseok-hyung whisper to Lu-ge, outside of his and Xing-ge’s shared room.

“I don’t know,” Lu Han sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “He’s been having trouble sleeping and he thinks I don’t hear him coughing in the middle of the night, but it’s kind of hard to miss when it sounds so bad.”

“He seems fine during the day though,” Minseok says, and Lu Han grimaces and shrugs.

“You know him.”

“What’s wrong with Xing-ge?” Tao demands, stepping forward out of the shadows he had been eavesdropping in. Both of them look startled, then guilty, Minseok-hyung reaching out first to touch Tao’s shoulder briefly in a gesture of comfort.

Though he feels bad, he shrugs it off. He’s not the one who needs comfort right now. “He’s a little sick,” Lu Han says, but he doesn’t sound all that convinced himself.

“Let me in,” he demands, and Lu Han hesitates briefly, weighing him up before he backs away from the door, allowing Tao in.

“Taozi,” he hears Lu-ge call softly. He turns back, expectant. Lu Han pauses before he shakes his head, a fond look on his face. “Never mind.”

The door closes faintly behind him.

Yixing is slumped over on the bed, stripped down to the thin white tank top he typically sleeps in, breathing shallowly. “Xing-ge,” he says quietly, not wanting to startle him. He reaches a hand out, slides it gently over his shoulder. Yixing squirms a little, ticklish. It makes Tao smile.

“Taozi,” Yixing turns over and opens his eyes blearily. Something warm and fond unfurls in his chest.

“Xing-ge,” he says again. “Are you hungry? You didn’t eat anything at dinner, I’m going to make you some _xifan,_ okay?”  
Yixing manages to nod before he starts coughing. The sound is deep, like it comes from low in his chest, and it sounds like it _hurts_. Tao remembers the time he’d gotten pneumonia when he was little, and how his cough had sounded similar. He frowns. “Xing-ge, I think you need to go the hospital.”

Yixing frowns, then shakes his head before closing his eyes, like the action makes him dizzy. Tao reaches out to brush the back of his hand against his forehead, pushing away the sweat-sticky hair plastered there. Yixing tenses, like he’s about to cough again, before he pushes away Tao’s hand and lets out a little sigh. “I’m fine, Taozi.”

He stands up. “I’ll be right back. The _xifan_ will be done fast, okay? It’ll be the best _xifan_ you’ve ever tasted. Even if you can’t taste anything right now, I bet you’ll really like it. Lie back down, I’ll send Lu-ge or _duizhang_ to come in while I make it—” he’s rambling, he knows, but something about the way Yixing appears, cheeks fever-bright and lean figure curled on the small twin bed, tilts him off-balance. It’s not even the first time Yixing has gotten sick or hurt, but something about the way Yixing looks up at him, eyes full of trust, makes his heart twinge.

He washes the rice methodically, slowly, running his fingers through the grains and feeling as they stick to the palms of his hand, rinsing them off under the running tap from the sink so they fall back into the bowl. The starch clouds the water as he rinses—he stares at it, lost in thought, remembering the morning schedule when Yixing had been the last one out of the car and the last one in, the careful way Minseok had fussed over him when they were finally finished recording, the heavy jacket draped over Yixing's slender figure.

The water runs clear.

He sticks a finger into the bowl, digging deep into the rice so he can touch the bottom—good enough, he thinks, memories of his mother standing by his side in the kitchen years ago, her warm hands showing him where the water line should fall on his own, much smaller hands—and carefully places the bowl into the rice cooker, pressing the big red button on the top to turn it on.

It beeps back at him, and he smiles faintly before he turns to grab the pork that he had marinated earlier—throw in a dash of soy sauce and a pinch of brown sugar, his father had said, as Tao had clambered onto a chair to see better, the counter too high for his little height. He pours some vegetable oil into a pan before transferring the meat in, and the kitchen fills with the warm fragrance of cooking food, sizzling and hot. Perhaps attracted by the smell, Yifan wanders in, and his eyebrow raises as he takes in Tao standing by the stove alone, the floral apron Lu Han had bought as a gag gift for Yixing’s birthday last year tied around his waist. Tao turns back to his pan, stirring the pork and pointedly ignoring him until Yifan finally speaks, peering over him, “That looks good, Tao.”

The tension that had unknowingly crept into Tao’s shoulders bleeds out.

He doesn’t know what to say, so he settles for a nod instead, horrified by the way his chest suddenly feels tight and achy. He can feel Yifan’s gaze on the back of his neck, and he breathes a sigh of relief when Yifan takes a step back, out of the kitchen. “Xing will like it,” he says, and Tao’s face flames at how entirely obvious he is. Yifan smirks at him, a rare mischievous glint in his eye, but there’s something soft underneath it. He turns to head out, presumably to go check on Yixing himself.

Tao sighs and stirs the pork, listening to it sizzle.

“There’s a century egg in the fridge, by the way,” Yifan pops his head back in, and though he will deny it later, Tao jumps, startled, before glaring at him and nodding. “Don’t forget to add it in.”

“Okay _duizhang_ ,” he says, and doesn’t point out that he had already planned on doing so. He finds that it’s often not worth it to argue with Yifan, that he doesn’t enjoy needling him the way Yixing and Lu-ge like to.

The rice cooker beeps, and Tao opens it, backing away from the steam as it threatens to scald him. He moves everything into a big pot, turning the heat to low before grabbing the century egg from the fridge and some ginger, dicing both before adding them to the _xifan_ as well.

A memory floats across his mind—Yixing in the hospital right before they had debuted, lying pale and sick and weak, drowning in the sheets thrown across his body. His mother had been there too, eyes puffy as she had grasped her only son’s hand tightly between her own. He remembered them all going to visit him after practice, and once, when Tao had doubled back to the hospital because he had forgotten his phone in Yixing’s room, coming across Lu Han and Yifan in the hall, promising Yixing’s mother that they would take care of him.

The _xifan_ simmers, nostalgic in its fragrance, unraveling some of the knot that had unconsciously tightened in his chest.

He scoops out a generous portion of the _xifan_ in one of the nicer—nicer meaning unchipped—bowls and garnishes with some scallions, the way he remembers his own father used to make _xifan_ for him when he was sick. It’s one of the few things he knows how to cook—one of the few things he can do for Yixing, who has always taken care of everyone else even though he doesn’t know how to take care of himself.

“There’s just a little more,” he tells Yixing, who’s trying to squirm away from him. “Come on, _ge_ , we can’t waste food.”

Tao’s relieved, at least, to see that Yixing still has the energy to roll his eyes at him. He scoops out the last spoonful of _xifan_ , blowing on it gently to make sure it’s not too hot before he brings it to Yixing’s mouth, which opens obediently for him. “That was good, Taozi,” Yixing says, drowsily.

“Don’t try and flatter me, Xing-ge,” he says. “I know you can’t taste anything right now.”

Yixing looks like he wants to reply, but instead gets overtaken by another bout of coughing. Tao rubs his back gently, and before he can stop himself, presses a kiss onto the top of his hair. Yixing turns his face into the sleeve of Tao’s shirt, and Tao reaches down to pull up the blankets over both their bodies.

“Drink some more hot water,” he urges, and he helps him slowly lift his head, supporting it with his body, before helping him sip from the mug so that Yixing doesn’t spill it all over his shirt. Gently, he guides Yixing’s head back down, sliding the fluffier of the two pillows beneath it so he has a comfortable perch.

Yixing sniffles a bit and coughs again, twisting onto his side so he can bury his face in the shirt around Tao’s hip, fingers curled tightly around the hem, as if he couldn’t bear to let him go. Tao strokes Yixing’s hair lightly, and Yixing leans into the touch.

Slowly, his breathing evens out and Tao knows he has fallen asleep. He glances down at Yixing’s face, watches as it slowly relaxes, as the furrow between his eyebrows and the pinched wrinkle at the corner of his eyes fade into smooth, soft skin. His body is warm where it is pressed against his own, and Tao pulls the corner of the blanket up a little higher—but not too high—mindful not to touch Yixing’s neck.

Careful not to disturb him, Tao reaches up and clicks off the light.

**Author's Note:**

> a short glossary of the mandarin used in this fic:
> 
>  _duizhang_ : leader  
>  _-ge_ : older brother  
>  _jie jie_ : older sister  
>  _laoshi_ : teacher  
>  _meng_ : cute  
>  _xifan_ : porridge
> 
> the recipe i was referencing is one of my favorites: 皮蛋瘦肉粥 ( _pi dan shou rou zhou_ ), which is congee with a preserved century egg and pork.
> 
> hope you enjoyed this fic!! i had such a good time writing it, taoxing are so soft and cute ;;  
> 
> 
> catch me here:  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/staryxz)  
> [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/yixingzhang)


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